


violent delights.

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Hand Jobs, Non-Consensual Touching, One Shot, Out of Character, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He was clearly getting worse now, his brow so swollen he could barely keep his eye open, his nose turning an ugly shade of blue, his bangs still dripping cold drops of rain, his teeth clattering for the cold behind pale lips. He looked the most pathetic she had ever seen him.And she couldn’t stop smiling.
Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Yagiri Namie
Kudos: 28





	violent delights.

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I had no idea where this was going, honestly. I popped on some music, I wrote "Drops of rain patted heavy on the windows" and then it went out of control. At the beginning, I didn't even knew if I wanted to write a fanfiction, or an original work, or whatever... The power of "It was a stormy and dark night" strikes again. The title is sappy af, but I struggled more with it than with the whole work, so please bear with me. 
> 
> English it's not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any errors~
> 
> Have fun ;)

Drops of rain patted heavy on the windows, lightning illuminating the room intermittently in the otherwise dark room, even though it was still daytime. The apartment door opened, but Namie continued clacking on her laptop, not even sparing a glance to whom had entered. She didn’t need to. 

  
“Why didn’t you tell me I had to bring an umbrella, Namie-chan,” Izaya said, his whiny voice grating on her ears like nails on chalkboard, “It’s totes unprofessional of you.”

Namie just imperceptibly raised her brow, “I told you.” 

Izaya just huffed a breath, discarding his drenched parka on the sofa. She continued on with her clacking, even when she heard his squelching steps approaching, never once raising her eyes. All of a sudden her hands were flooded with ice cold water, Izaya’s hands squeezing his soaked shirt on her laptop. She could feel his disdainful smirk hanging on her head. Namie lifted her fingers, as the computer fizzed with sparks and just shut down. 

“Isn’t my secretary to be at my beck and call?”, he chanted, still squeezing out water on her. “Call Shinra and prepare me a hot bath, yes?”

Namie abruptly closed the screen, a frustrated sigh clenched tightly between her teeth. She could feel her whole body shake with the temptation to just give in his tauts, her leg trembling under the desk. All of a sudden she got up and gathered all of her things. 

“Are you going away, Namie-chan?” Then he gasped, and for no motive started clapping his hands, “Are you going to buy me something special because I had a horrible day? Aww, how sweet!” 

When she didn’t answer, he followed her to the door, his wet steps behind her heels ticking on the floor. She took her clear umbrella, before she opened the door. 

“See you tomorrow,” she had one foot out already, and turned sharply to give him a bow. 

But then her eyes couldn’t help staring the blood slowly trickling from Izaya’s split brow, the red almost orange diluted on his wet cheek, her gaze following the patchwork of injuries on his swelling face. 

“What the fuck happened to you?”

He just spread his arms as best as he could do, his smirk showing his bloodied teeth. “I guess they didn’t like the last info I gave them,” he cackled, the breath he took after wheezing into his broken nose. “If only they knew what I had to go through to get those!”

“You disgust me,” she shoved him inside, slamming the door behind her and throwing the umbrella away. 

He stumbled a bit, giving her a half shrug. “Aww Namie-chan, you know you hurt my poor little heart with these words.”

Namie flipped her phone open, her finger faltering on Shinra’s number. Immediately after an idea hit her, and she hid the corner of her lips turning up behind her hand.

“Are you going to take care of me now?” Izaya looked at her owlishly, his tone still playful. “I knew you had it in you not to be a neglectful bitch.”

She put the phone on her ear, waiting only a handful of seconds, before the other side picked up. “Yeah, it’s me,” she answered dryly. “I’ll be late. Tell Seiji.”

The sharp clack of her phone closing reverberated in the room, and she crossed her arms, his phone dangling from one of her hands. “Take off your shirt and let me see that dislocated shoulder.”

Her heart swelled when Izaya’s face fell flat. “You’re no fun.” 

He seemed to retract defensively, but then he sighed as if he hadn’t any choice, his feet trudging to the main room. He just flopped on the sofa, trying to wrestle out of his shirt without moving too much, before throwing it on the floor. She kicked the shirt out of the way, letting her eyes roam from the blue bruise on his shoulder, to the one shaped like a boot on his ribs. A strange sense of elation took over her as she placed her hands on him, her fingers gingerly brushing the bruised skin.

Under her touch he felt hot and cold at the same time, and she could feel all of the small shudders wracking his body. He took a shaky breath. 

“You know how to do it, yes?”

Namie felt the corner of her lips turning up. Without notice she grabbed the arm, and popped the bone back in. His scream, a mix of fear and surprise, singed in her ears, a smile creeping again on her mouth when he tried to suffocate his voice with his other hand. For a while there wasn’t any noise other than Izaya’s breaths, his broken ribs not letting him take in the air he needed. Her hands were still on him, the nails sinking in his flesh, the grip strong enough to immobilize him. 

“You can let go now, Namie-chan,” he tried his singsong voice, but it came out so pathetically weak.

Namie let go of his arm unceremoniously, a soft whine leaving him, his other hand reaching protectively to his shoulder. She swayed slowly in front of the couch, lowering herself to her knees to look at his face. He was clearly getting worse now, his brow so swollen he could barely keep his eye open, his nose turning an ugly shade of blue, his bangs still dripping cold drops of rain, his teeth clattering for the cold behind pale lips. He looked the most pathetic she had ever seen him. And she couldn’t stop smiling.

Without even knowing why, Namie placed her hands again on him, his bruised flesh soft and pliable under her fingers, brushing her palms on his chest and down on his hips and on his crotch. At this Izaya just froze under her, his breath caught in his throat, his only movement the uncontrollable shakes of his body. She could feel Izaya’s eyes boring on the crown of her head, while her nimble fingers played with the button of his pants, his breath hitching again when she slid her hand inside his underwear. Her smile widened when she felt him growing hard under her fingers, his length twitching under her touch. 

Still in her stupor, Namie brought his pants down enough to bring him out, her hand starting to move, while the other crawled languidly on his broken body. There was no sound between them, Namie holding her breath in morbid curiosity, her hand moving faster as Izaya came undone under her. She just stared at him wide eyed, her gaze catching every little movement of his face, his teeth catching his lip in a moan, his brows furrowing, his eyes closing in pain and ecstasy. 

At a certain point it seemed like Izaya was trying to say something, fragments of noises rumbling in his throat. Without a word, she brought her precum smeared fingers to his lips, pushing them inside, his tongue immediately latching around them. He moaned something like a no, a noise so keen and desperate it rebounded loudly in her brain, and thundered down on her body, making her shiver from her nape to her loins. She brushed her legs together, the breath she didn’t know was holding suddenly escaping her in a rush, and she moaned too. 

Then without notice she felt her hand becoming wet and warm, Izaya shuddering under her wordlessly, blood and saliva seeping from his lips, a gagged moan trembling around her fingers. She watched him coming down from his orgasm, head lolling on the couch, his wet hair sticking on his forehead with sweat. He closed his eyes, looking even more broken than before, and Namie smiled. 

Carelessly, she cleaned her hand on his pants. She then stood up, hands straightening her beige skirt. She could feel her knees quivering, a rhythmic pulse tingling between her legs, but she decided to ignore it. The sound of her heels echoed loudly in the silent apartment, her hips swaying while she walked to the kitchen to get ice. 

Namie went back to the main room, noticing only now that the summer thunderstorm had finished in the meantime, the mid-afternoon sunlight now lighting brightly every angle of the apartment. Izaya was still on the couch, his pants up, but still without a shirt. She threw the ice pack on his lap, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Put ice on the eye,” she said, walking to her discarded bag. “And someone should give a look to that nose.”

“That’s why I needed Shinra,” he muttered, obediently putting the ice on his face, sucking a breath when it made contact with his skin. His one other eye was cast down, bringing his wrist to his mouth to clean it from the saliva. 

“Why?” 

Namie could barely hear him, his voice so much of a whisper that even in the silent apartment was almost lost. She turned to him, his mouth clenched shut, his red eye all but giving away his confusion. For a moment, she wondered if it was worth letting herself open in front of him for a chance, if only to enhance her pleasure. 

Namie clicked her tongue, and gave him a shrug. “I just wanted to see you suffer.” 

He lowered his head, his body starting shaking again, his hand opening and closing on his knee. Namie just couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of her was Izaya, the terror of all Ikebukuro, the untouchable informant, broght by her on the verge of tears. That was going to be a memory Namie was going to cherish for all her life. 

She stared at him as he unraveled, his shakes becoming more and more violent, and for a moment she thought she broke him for good. 

But then suddenly she heard a chuckle. A sinking feeling took hold of her heart, her smile faltering on her painted lips. 

“That’s the most pathetic excuse ever, Namie,” he raised his head, and laughed, the crystalline sound reverberating his derision in the wide apartment. 

“You wanted to play around, hm?” He stood up, as flawlessly as if he wasn’t lying wretched and injured only moments before. Namie tried to take a step back, but Izaya grabbed her wrist, the ice pack discarded on the floor, his red eyes sucking away all her words. 

“You think you’ve been the first? Or maybe you really thought you could get under my skin?” He laughed harder now, the iron grip around her arm never faltering. “Poor stupid Namie-chan, you don’t know the first thing about me.”

Out of nowhere she heard the familiar sound of a switchblade, and the moment after she was seeing the blade dangerously close to her eye. A wave of terror immediately washed over her, all of a sudden feeling very much aware of everything the man in front of her was capable of. She just stared at him wide eyed, the moment stretching indefinitely in time, laying motionless at his mercy and not even knowing why. 

But as suddenly as it began, it finished, and Izaya simply let go of her. He flipped open one of his phones, and swiftly composed a number. 

“Hiii, Izaya!”, the doctor’s shrill voice was so loud it could be heard clearly from the receiver. “What’s the emergency? Did Shizuo throw another vending machine at you? No, no, don’t tell me, I want to guess which one...”

“Just come here, I’ve broken my nose,” he huffed, falling again on the couch. 

“Uhh, so, listen, I really can’t at the…”

He simply closed the call, stretching lazily on the cushions. Izaya turned to her. 

“I want to sleep, so,” he motioned his thumb towards the door. “See ya.”

All of a sudden Namie realized she had been standing there the whole time, frozen on the spot. The terror so prepotent before was soon driven away by shame, and she felt her whole body shaking with it. 

She smacked him on the face, the sound sharp and clear. 

“Goodbye.”

Her heels clacked away, and Namie slammed the door shut. 

* * *

It was only when she was finally home, she realized she forgot her umbrella. 

  
  



End file.
